


Turn the Dirt Over

by brocanteur



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-14
Updated: 2009-12-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 02:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'We're always meeting in the dark, you and I.'" An alternate telling of what happened between Katie and Effy in Gobbler's End.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn the Dirt Over

Freddie doesn't wait until they've left the hospital; there, in front of everyone, he sneers at her, looks at her as if she were the very worst sort of person. As if she'd done murder or something. Katie hasn't killed anyone, but she's come close, and there's still blood on her jacket sleeve, a crimson reminder.

"I can't," he says, when, while waiting to hear news on Effy's condition, in the middle of a blind panic, Katie reaches for his hand. He hadn't needed an excuse to end things with her; from the moment Cook crashed their party in the woods and told them Effy'd broken things off, what was running through Freddie's head was clear—he would've taken any opportunity. "Look what you've done, Katie."

This is more than reason enough for him. Of course it is.

"It was an accident," she repeats numbly, for what feels like the millionth time. She steps away from him, away from the group—Pandora can't bear to look at her, it's obvious—and sits at the far end of the room, on a hard plastic chair, feet tucked underneath her. She rubs at a bruise on her knee; licks at the scab forming at one corner of her mouth, tasting copper.

—

Effy will be fine, the doctor says, not to them, but to Effy's mother, who is wobbly on her feet, one hand sunk deep in her disheveled hair as she stares open-mouthed and nods, just nods, at the doctor's words. A few stitches to close up the wound, but it's nothing serious. Nothing permanent. It's good, he says, they got her back so quickly. The woods are a dangerous place.

Katie stands and sees black. Dizzy, she sinks heavily back into the chair. It feels as if she's been awake forever. "Effy will be fine," she whispers. The others stand dumbly, gathered round each other, looking like they nearly failed to survive something awful.

The sickness in Katie's stomach finally overwhelms her, and she just manages to vomit into the nearest rubbish bin, on and on, until she's heaving up nothing but saliva. When she sinks to the floor and touches her forehead, her skin feels alien and hot. Emily fetches her water and paracetamol, for her aching, swollen cheek, her scraped knuckles. For all the bruises. "All right?" Emily asks.

Katie doesn't know. How to fucking answer that?

She hears Freddie say her name, faintly, but he hasn't called for her; he's talking with Effy's mum.

Mrs. Stonem's gaze is intent; she doesn't seem angry, just terribly curious. Freddie stands next to her, tall and useless. Katie momentarily cannot remember why she ever fought for him. Why, in the darkness, in the struggle, she reached for a rock and smashed it against Effy's head, all in the name of keeping Freddie McLair. (Later, Katie will remember her dignity, her pride.) Mrs. Stonem asks, "You're the one, then?"

"Yeah. Sorry," Katie murmurs tiredly. "It was an accident."

—

Effy recovers. She takes Katie's place by Freddie's side. At college, Katie sees them, walking the halls, clinging to one another. Bitterness claws at her throat; she doesn't love Freddie, but she hates that Effy's won. She hates, too, the certainty with which she believes that, if things had gone the other way, if Katie had been hit with a rock instead of Effy, things still would've gone exactly like this. Effy, Katie thinks, her eyes burning as she watches them pass, always fucking wins.

—

She watches them sometimes. From afar, she watches them gaze at one another with sickening affection; Effy's got the sort of look on her face Katie wouldn't have imagined her capable of—she looks happy and in love.

—

Not that Katie knows what love is.

—

Every day she wakes up, showers, puts on her clothes, her make-up. Every day her mum gives her a ride to college. She's got no boyfriend, her sister's gone off to be a muff-muncher. Her best friend is not her friend, was never her friend. Class is boring. Course work is difficult. She hasn't a clue what she wants to do, nor who she wants to be.

She tells herself, _Your life will start soon. Don't fuck up again._

—

Effy's look of love fades.

Once, in the middle of General Studies, Effy catches Katie's eye; it hadn't occurred to Katie until that moment, that all the while she'd thought she was watching them as a couple, she'd really only been watching Effy.

When they lock gazes, Effy smiles. She leans back in her chair, pulls her fingers away from Freddie's slack grip, and smiles.

Katie looks away immediately. She doesn't look up from her book until class is over and Effy's gone out the door.

 

She breathes.

—

By the next month, Effy and Freddie are no more. It surprises Katie, how quickly it's all fallen apart. It shouldn't. These things always do.

Distracted, Katie doesn't notice her sister drift further and further away until one evening, during dinner, she makes it official by calling Naomi her girlfriend. "She's rather beautiful," Emily says, a familiar expression on her face. Love. Katie can't quite bring herself to interfere. She entertains the notion of sabotaging their relationship, because she could, probably, if she tried hard enough—it stills seems so fragile—and Emily deserves better than Naomi, a boorish cunt bound to break her heart.

Katie decides that maybe if she leaves them alone, they'll splinter anyway, their love too delicate to survive.

—

After the incident with Effy—sometimes she thinks of it that way, as "the incident," because it's easier to think of it that way than it is to try and give it a proper name, one that describes what actually went on between them, that night at Gobbler's end—Katie floats.

Tethered to nothing, she floats.

—

Exams come and go. The Love Ball approaches, and JJ, nervous and awkward, asks if she'd like to be his date. Before the woods, Katie might've laughed at the invitation— _presumptuous mong_ , she would've thought, unkindly—but she has so few options now that she accepts.

Emily shows up alone to the ball—her eyes are small, reddened, and her outfit, by the looks of it, was thrown on in haste. Katie thinks to go to her, but there's still a palpable tension between them, and Katie doesn't want to chance a public argument. Emily ends up dancing half the night with Freddie—a weird coupling, they seem uncomfortable in each other's arms—who looks as forlorn as his dance partner when Effy shows up late in the evening, already bonked and accompanied by some boy Katie's never even seen before. Wearing black, torn trousers and boots, she's not dressed for any sort of formal dance. Neither does she seem to care.

She dances with abandon, and with anyone who approaches her. She laughs sometimes, but her expression is shuttered, and Katie thinks, "Right mess. Right fucking mess." As if she's doing any better. As if she's any happier.

The evening wears on, and Katie wonders why she even bothered coming at all. JJ's conversation is stilted, and he's a horrible dancer. After their final aborted attempt—he twitches round, all fumbling gracelessness, explaining shortly, "It's the STUN, surely. Very definitely the STUN"—Katie leaves him, saying, "I need some fucking air, yeah?"

"Oh. Y-yes, of course. I could get us something to drink." Then he steps back and blinks at her, says, rather knowingly, "You won't be coming back, will you?"

Katie balks. "Dunno. You should, like, go dance with Panda, or something." She can feel his hurt gaze following her as she pushes through the crowd, but she won't allow herself any guilt. He should've known what he'd get when he invited her.

Outside, the air is cold. She walks a bit down the path, away from the building, only to be startled by a familiar form leaning against a nearby tree. Effy's cigarette burns bright at the tip as she inhales deeply, eyes fixed on Katie.

"Leaving so soon?"

They haven't spoken since that night at Gobbler's End. Katie wonders if she might find a scar, were she to reach out and push Effy's hair away from her face.

Without thinking, Katie brings her hand to her own temple.

When Katie doesn't immediately respond to her question, Effy smiles, flicking the ash off her fag. "We're always meeting in the dark, you and I."

The words come automatically: "Fuck off."

Effy takes a step closer. One of her bootlaces has come undone. She smells like smoke and rose water."It's all right, Katie. I know you didn't mean it."

"Didn't I?"

"No," Effy replies. "Not like that."

Katie crosses her arms and looks away. For weeks, the words have caught in her throat; finally, she lets them out. "Look, I meant to say—I'm sorry. Okay?" When she glances up, Effy's staring back at her, blue gaze steady. "I'm fucking sorry, Effy."

Effy shakes her head. "Don't think about it, Katie," she says dismissively. She looks up at the sky and moonlight settles on her face. "I don't."

The deliberate way in which Effy ignores their history angers Katie. She doesn't know why, but she's suddenly so nervous, she can feel a knot of tension form at the back of her neck. She reaches to touch it, rubs at it, but all she can think of is Gobbler's End and Effy's blood on her hands. "You should hate me, yeah? Why don't you fucking hate me?"

"I hardly remember."

"You were tripping," Katie says, her voice hard. "I slapped you. I was so fucking angry, that I knocked you to the ground. You reached for something..."

"And you got to it first. And you hit me."

"Fucking—" Katie stops. She feels all at once as if she's in a dream in which she can only run in slow motion. Frustration curls her fists. "Why are you making this so bloody difficult?"

Effy smiles thinly. "Am I?"

Katie's shoulders sag; this won't get them anywhere, this back and forth, but maybe they're not meant to go anywhere. Maybe they're meant to stay exactly where they are. She lets out a breath, asks Effy for a cigarette, then settles at the base of a tree. Effy joins her, and soon they're sitting together, smoking. The grass is damp, cold, but neither moves. Neither says a word, either, until finally Katie asks, "Why'd you end it with Freddie, then?"

Effy picks at the blades of grass beneath her leg, plucks them from the ground and tosses them aside. "Wasn't working." _Wasn't working,_ as if Freddie were a broken toy.

"That's it, eh?" Katie snorts softly, catches at her lip as she thinks about all of the ways that night in the woods was the most fucked up of her life. And all for what? Failed romance, constant guilt, envy. Katie doesn't envy Effy anymore, but she's still drawn to her, the way she was that first stupidly innocent day of college, when everyone was teetering on the edge of a cliff and didn't even know it. "I thought you were supposed to be in love, or whatever."

"What's love, really?"

Katie nods, though she doesn't understand. She isn't sure she wants to try and understand Effy; she's fairly certain that way lies madness.

After a brief pause, she works up the courage to ask, "Did I—Is there a mark?" She points at the side of her own head, and Effy gives her a look before pulling her hair back.

"It's nearly faded."

A long, thin, crooked scar—faint, ever faint—mars Effy's skin. Katie nearly reaches to touch it. Effy's eyes flicker to Katie's hand, and Katie puts it down, wrapping her fingers around her knee and squeezing hard. Overcome by the need to run, she opens her mouth to excuse herself, but Effy speaks first.

She holds up a flask and says, "Bygones?"

—

That summer, the summer of floating, Katie sees a lot of Effy. They cross uncharted paths, bumping shoulders, sharing cigarettes and drinks, but never secrets.

Sometimes all they do is sit together by the harbour, eating ice cream. Katie talks about things that don't matter, Effy listens, and when they're done they go their separate ways. Neither brings up Gobbler's End again.

When Effy disappears, Pandora tells Katie that Anthea and Tony have taken her to France on holiday. Anthea's trying to get herself sorted out, Panda says. Trying to be a good and proper mum. Katie hadn't known Effy's mum needed sorting out, but she should've guessed.

—

Whatever was bothering Emily at the Love Ball seems to resolve itself, and Katie, overcome with rage at not knowing anything that's going on in her sister's life, corners her and asks, "Is this it, then?"

Emily rolls her eyes, a gesture so reminiscent of Naomi, Katie bites her tongue to keep from saying something nasty. "Is what it? What are you on about, Katie?"

"You don't fucking talk to me anymore, Ems. You don't tell me _anything._ "

"Why do you even care?"

"I've left you alone. I've let you go off with that bitch—"

"Oh? You've _let_ me live my own life. How kind."

"No need for bloody sarcasm."

"Isn't there? What about all of the shit I've got from Mum and Dad? Where've you been, Katie?"

Katie has no answer.

Two weeks later, Emily leaves home and it's only through second-hand sources that Katie finds out she's gone to live with Cook, of all people.

The pain of it, of seeing Emily's empty bed, of seeing her things, even her bloody _box of fannies_ , gone, is so acute, Katie doesn't know how she'll survive. She tries to make herself angry, because anger is better than sadness, but in the end she can only be miserably lonely.

It's Cook— _Cook_ —who rings days later, Cook who sorts it out for them. "Come over, Katiekins. You know, fuck your pride, tell her you're sorry."

"She's too bloody stubborn," Katie sniffs into the phone. "It won't work, okay?"

"Your fucking choice, princess."

—

She shows up at their shabby little flat with a bottle of vodka and a promise she'll try harder.

By the second shot, Emily grudgingly accepts; by the fourth, they hug each other, crying and promising to never leave each other, not really.

—

When Effy shows up unexpectedly at Katie's one evening in August, she looks different. Healthier, less like she's going to break. The scar at her temple is nearly invisible now, nearly gone.

"How was France?"

"Good. Hot," Effy says. "Let's go for a walk, yeah?"

They stop in a shop so Effy can buy a pack of cigarettes, and she admits it's been weeks since she's smoked. "One more pack," she says, in a way that isn't very convincing at all, "and I'll give up for good." Once in the shop, though, she seems to change her mind, and instead buys two lollies, one for Katie and one for herself.

Katie unwraps hers and presses it against her cheek, the cherry-flavoured candy sticky-sweet on her tongue.

—

They've walked all the way to North Street and are browsing through a clothes shop that's more Effy's taste than Katie's, when it strikes Katie how abnormal this should feel.

Effy gives her a look and smiles, tossing her a shirt. "For you?"

Leopard print. Subtle. Katie rolls her eyes and hangs the shirt up without another glance. "Eff—"

"I'm going to try these on," Effy interrupts, turning abruptly towards the changing rooms. Katie follows sullenly, biting her lip to keep from insisting on how very strange this is, how very unbalanced their newfound friendship is making her feel.

Instead, she waits until Effy's tried on her clothes; it's taking a long time, and when ten minutes pass since she last looked at her watch, Katie sighs and knocks on the wall next to the dividing curtain and asks, "Fall asleep in there, did you?" She waits a few more seconds, but when it's clear Effy isn't going to answer, Katie mutters "Christ," and slips into the cubicle.

Effy's leaning against the wall, standing in bra and knickers, staring at herself in the mirror. Her clothes are in her arms, bundled in a ball. When she glances at Katie, she looks lost, overwhelmed.

"Effy, what?"

Effy opens her mouth, shutting it again immediately, a pained expression flashing across her face as she turns away from Katie. When she speaks, her voice is shaky. "I thought it'd be easier."

"What?" Katie pauses, and when Effy doesn't reply she steps closer, tips against the wall so her shoulder touches Effy's. When she looks up, she catches Effy's gaze in the mirror's reflection. "What did you think would be easier?"

Effy blinks slowly. "Starting over."

"Why would you—"

"Because," Effy says. "Because last year I managed to fuck everything up for myself, and I need a change. I need things to be different." She swallows visibly. "This isn't who I am."

Katie shakes her head. "Who are you, then?"

When Effy turns her head and they're face to face, so close Katie can count the freckles across the bridge of Effy's nose, she says, "Effy Stonem."

Katie nearly laughs, but Effy's serious. "And what's that mean?"

"It means I do what I want. I tell people what to do because they're too stupid to sort out their own fucking soap operas. I don't do emotion, I don't..." She stops and takes a breath.

"Don't fall in love?" Katie asks. "Don't make mistakes? Don't get hit over the head with a sodding rock?"

Effy glares at her, but her expression shifts quickly into what appears to be grudging admiration. "You really aren't the same vacuous girl I met that first day of college, are you, Katie? All appearances to the contrary."

Katie smirks. "Shitty compliment, but I'll fucking take it." Slowly, she brushes Effy's hair back, away from that quickly fading mark that binds them. When she touches it, running the edge of her thumb along a shallow ridge, Effy flinches, just enough for Katie to notice. Instead of backing away as she should, however, she lingers. She says, quietly, "You can't go back to being who you thought you were, yeah? Trying is just...it's useless, Effy."

"Speaking from experience, are you?" Effy asks tightly.

Katie drops her hand away. "Something like that. Want to put your clothes back on so we can bloody get out of here?"

"I still need to try on these others."

"The top's nice enough, babe, but I've a feeling you want to wear it as a dress, which is fucking ridiculous when you really need a skirt to go with it—"

"I can only imagine what you're about to suggest."

"Fuck off, I've got good taste."

"Have you?"

They smile at each other and it feels almost intimate.

"Yeah, but I'm not about to waste it on you. Now, get dressed because I feel like getting fried tonight, and you're buying me drinks."

—

Katie's grateful for the warmth of summer, for the nights she spends happily pretending the last weeks of college were a bad dream. Effy's her friend now, a real friend, and there's no need to think about the bad when there's so much good. Even Emily and Naomi join them sometimes, and it's weird, at first, but getting better.

"This is, like, the very longest I've been without a boyfriend," Katie confesses one evening. She's pissed and tired from dancing, and her hips are pressed against cold, hard porcelain as she leans into the sink to get a better look at herself in the mirror. The toilet's dimly lit, grungier than most in clubs of this sort.

Effy comes out of her cubicle with a perverse grin on her face, and when she nudges Katie out of the way so she can wash her hands, asks, "How does it feel?"

"Thought I'd miss it more, frankly."

"What, fucking?"

Katie laughs, too drunk to be completely embarrassed. "No, being with someone. Fucking's overrated, yeah?"

Effy raises an eyebrow, but doesn't agree or disagree.

 

Later, when they're half-stumbling home, only a few blocks away from Effy's house, Effy murmurs, "Hold on," and stops altogether, leans up against the nearest wall and closes her eyes.

"We're nearly there," Katie says, watching as Effy tilts her head back and runs her fingers slowly through her hair. She still looks flushed from their last bit of dancing.

"Katie, relax."

Katie opens her purse to look for a fag, but finding none, she zips it closed with a sigh. When she looks up, it's to find Effy watching her intently.

"What?"

"You've stopped trying to look like Emily."

"Don't be stupid. We're twins."

"Yes, but..." Effy slides closer. "Your hair's different."

"So?"

"It's just an observation. Don't move." Effy licks her thumb and runs it slowly along the bottom of Katie's eye.

Katie freezes, an unreasonable nervousness fluttering through her entire body. She doesn't know what to call it, but she blames being drunk and tired. "What are you doing?"

"Your mascara's run."

"So has yours," Katie retorts. "You don't fucking see me licking your face, or whatever."

When Effy leans away, she's smiling. "Do you want to?"

Katie swallows hard. Sometimes she feels like she's always one step behind Effy, always trying to gauge her intentions, always trying to figure out when she's being genuine and when she's just having a laugh. "You're not funny."

"Not trying to be."

The seriousness in Effy's gaze is startling, attractive in a way Katie finds disconcerting, because while she's always found Effy beautiful, she's never really thought, _right, I wonder what it'd be like to kiss her_ the way she's doing now. Effy's dangerously close, too, and it wouldn't take much to find out.

Katie turns away, forcing her gaze to the far end of the dark, quiet street.

"You've never wondered?" Effy asks.

"Christ, of course not."

"Why not?"

"Look," Katie says, her patience wearing thin, "just because Emily's gay, doesn't mean I am. I've never kissed a girl and liked it. Okay?"

"You have, then?"

"Huh?"

"Dozy cow," Effy murmurs, tugging lightly on a strand of Katie's hair. "Kissed a girl."

"No, but..." Katie shakes her head. "You're drunk."

"Fuck's sake, so are you," Effy replies mildly. "It hardly counts if we're both drunk."

"That's ridic—"

It's a quick, chaste kiss. It doesn't tilt the world on its axis; it doesn't crack Katie's heart open. Neither is it awful, and when Effy pulls away with a pleasant smile on her face, Katie says, "You're right. That hardly counts as much of anything."

Effy tilts her head and gives Katie a long, appreciative look. She puts her hands on either side of Katie's shoulder, trapping her against the wall. 

"You do like to push things, don't you, Katie? How do you want this to go?"

Katie can almost taste the obnoxiously sweet alcopop on Effy's breath. "I suppose you'll kiss me again," she says. "And I'll let you, for a bit. If I like it."

Effy laughs, a short bark that somehow manages to exude something between bemusement and annoyance. It irritates Katie until Effy rolls her eyes and the distance between them evaporates. It's a slow, aimless kiss, almost intolerably soft and devastating. When they break apart this time, Katie is dismayed by the fluttering in her body, by the audible shakiness in her breathing. She hadn't expected it, the spark of desire that ignites in her chest, singeing a path southward, and so she blames the drinks, the fucking alcohol that warmed her blood and forced her into this pathetic game.

Effy's mouth is wet, and she looks a bit like she's been slapped. "Well," she murmurs, dragging her tongue along her lower lip. "Not bad."

"Effy..."

Effy shakes her head, tugs on Katie's hand until they're moving again in the direction of Effy's house.

It's nearly noon the next day when Katie wakes up, the side of her head pressed to Effy's calf. Effy's awake and staring at the ceiling. When she notices Katie watching her, she says, "D'you remember?"

Katie doesn't bother lying. "Yeah."

"Oh."

"We were fucking pissed, though."

"Yeah."

"So, like, forget about it."

"Forgotten."

—

Except it happens again and again. They drink a bit too much and they end up together somewhere, anywhere, snogging. All they do is kiss, and later, when they're sober, they don't talk about it. Sometimes Katie thinks Effy is fucking with her, as a way of getting back at her for Gobbler's End, but their relationship otherwise proceeds normally. They see each other occasionally, as friends—they shop, hang out with Pandora, or, with increasing frequency, spend their evenings at Emily and Cook's.

"You two are fucking hiding something."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, you and Effy, you're being all weird and shit. The Cookie Monster knows these things, princess."

Katie glances at Effy, who looks completely unfazed by Cook's random accusation. She turns her attention back to the television—they're watching something on BBC2 called _Grow Your Own Drugs_ , which is really not as cool as it sounds—and asks, "Are you high?"

Cook nods, his eyebrows shooting up. " _Yes_ , but that's not the point, is it? Something's up, and I _will_ figure it out."

—

Katie's almost afraid to bring it up, but on her walk home with Effy, she asks, "Do you think he's seen us or something?"

Effy doesn't answer right away. She fumbles her cigarettes—she managed to quit for two months before the night she stole a fag from Naomi, saying, "Fuck it, right?" Sometimes Katie thinks that's how Effy confronts the world, with those words always on the tip of her tongue.

"No."

"How can you be so fucking sure?"

"Cook's not exactly subtle, Katie."

Katie silently concedes the point, and the conversation is closed.

—

When it happens again, Katie isn't drunk, but she pretends she is. When Effy approaches her, smiling and swaying, Katie pretends.

"Let's go."

"Where?"

She's dragged to the toilets, to an empty cubicle, and she doesn't know if it's a function of not being off her tits, but Katie feels _everything._ When Effy licks into her mouth, Katie hears the low hum in the back of her throat and answers with her own. She murmurs, "fuck, fuck," against Effy's ear when Effy ducks her head and starts kissing along Katie's neck. Effy's hands find their way beneath Katie's top, and it's more than snogging, much more than they've ever done, and Katie _isn't drunk_ , but she isn't quite ready to stop.

Still, when Effy's hand covers one of her breasts—and there's this heat pooling between Katie's legs, a desire stronger than she's ever felt—Katie forces herself to ask, "What are we doing?"

Effy's gaze is surprisingly sharp, and it dawns on Katie that neither of them is fucked up enough to be doing this.

"I—I should go home," Katie says.

Effy closes her eyes and takes a step back. "Yeah."

Katie runs.

—

They avoid each other for a few days, but then Katie misses...everything. She rings Effy and before she has a chance to say, "Please, let's forget it," Effy interrupts.

"I'm watching _Q.I._ Come over."

She answers the door wearing a long t-shirt, heavy boots, and a scarf—for the chill, Katie thinks, nearly rolling her eyes; it's ten days before Christmas.

They settle in front of the telly, and Katie asks—because the house is quiet in a way it hasn't been since Anthea rediscovered her desire to be the "best mother she can be" (Effy's words)—"Where's your mum?"

"Meeting."

Katie doesn't need to ask what sort of meeting. She already knows that Anthea's been going to meetings for her drug problems. Sometimes Effy goes along with her, which makes it doubly ironic when she pulls out a spliff and offers it to Katie. Not that Katie's bothered.

"The only way to make Stephen Fry more fucking interesting," she says blithely.

Effy smiles at her, and everything feels almost normal again.

They smoke a bit and watch the show quietly. After a while, though, Katie finds herself with the urge to say, "Sometimes it feels like I went from not being with a boyfriend to being with you."

Effy gives her a look. "That's a funny way of putting it."

"It is. It really fucking is. But it's the way I've been thinking of it lately. I can't bloody help it."

Effy sighs, aggrieved. "Should I be sorry, then? Because I remember you kissing me back, Katie. Every time."

"Don't be sorry," Katie replies. "But just, like, fucking acknowledge it, yeah?"

"I just did."

And then Katie says the thing that's been floating in her head since they began this sordid mess. "I mean, is this your way getting back at me? Because of the rock?"

"Getting back at you? _Because of the rock_?" Effy asks, astonished. "Katie, what the fuck? Are you serious?"

"No, I don't—I don't know, okay?"

"Katie." Effy's voice is hard. "Sort it out."

Katie can't. "Don't you see why it's so fucking confusing? I suppose it's fine for you, because you don't do simple relationships, do you, but—"

"Relationship?" Effy interrupts. "Is that what you want?"

"No, I—"

"What do you want, Katie?"

"I'm trying to be, like, less afraid of change."

"What does that mean?"

Katie takes either end of Effy's scarf—striped black and grey, a gift from Tony, Katie remembers—and tugs until Effy's falling into her, wide-eyed. When they're nearly nose-to-nose, Katie whispers, "Just help me figure out if it's worth it, yeah? I can't do this by myself. I don't want to fuck it up, Effy."

Effy's eyes soften, her lips part, and she nods. She just nods. And when they kiss it feels different. Katie's world doesn't tilt on its axis, her heart doesn't break open, but her hands tremble and her pulse quickens. Maybe that's enough. Maybe it's a beginning.

In that moment, it's all that matters.


End file.
